ArchivedLogs:Plotting the Future

Plotting the Future
Dramatis Personae Shane, Sebastian, Peter
In Absentia	2014-03-09 Part of the Future Past TP.
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. Sometime around the afternoon -- likely shortly after Peter's left Stark Tower! -- there's a knock-knock-knock at the front door of Shane and Sebastian's apartment. Polite, but quick and brisk! The person on the other side is currently clad in a dark red hoodie and black slacks -- hood pulled up! -- shifting and swaying on his feet. He's got a nylon backpack strapped on, his chitin-clad face scrunched up in thought, nibbling down on his bottom lip -- he's taken a shower since yesterday, leaving most of the clinging remnants of gunpowder and fear and sweat off his skin -- though there's still some bruising underneath the hoodie -- and the hexacomb-patterned armor he's wearing (a second suit, since the first one now needs repairs!). The apartment is quiet at the moment -- at least in terms of /population/, with most of its occupants upstairs at Baby Shower the twins have the place to themselves just now. Shane is filling it with music, quick and lively -- no composer today, just an idly improvised piece that, at the moment, his laptop is recording and transcribing as he plays. He's not wearing much, here at home on a lazy Sunday; soft pajama pants, no shirt. Sebastian is tucked into a corner of the couch, his own laptop on his lap. He's similarly comfortable, in purple yoga pants and a black tank top with a pair of cherries embroidered on its chest. At the moment he's working, a borrowed holo-projector from Stark hooked up to his computer, eyes narrowed as he scrutinizes lines of code. He tilts his head at the knock at the door, nose reflexively twitching. A frown crosses his face and he sniffs again before exhaling a small sigh and getting up to pad barefoot to the door and actually /look/ outside it. He opens it quickly to usher Peter in. "-- Oh. Hey. Hi." The moment Peter sees Sebastian at the door, he /flushes/, going indigo; apparently he's still unused to the idea of -- well, seeing Sebastian this way. "--you look. Pretty. Um." He shifts the backpack off his shoulders, slinging it forward with one hand to offer to Sebastian as he steps inside -- head canting at the music, turning to look at Shane with a grin. "--this has got to be so weird I mean you two are like /indistinguishable/ until you open your mouths, but now..." His head swivels back to Sebastian, who is *probably* regarding the backpack with confusion. "Oh -- oh, right, I... I mean, I don't think you'll be -- plunging headlong into /danger/ anytime soon, but I thought... what with, you being made out of /meat/ and everything -- I'd let you borrow one of my body-suits? We'd have to adjust it to fit you it wasn't made for -- uh -- girlshapes..." Shane doesn't cease his playing, for the door. His nose twitches too but this is enough for /him/ at least to verify the very familiar identity of the person outside; he leaves Bastian to answer the door as he continues, eyes closed. Sebastian takes the backpack with a touch of bemusement, locking the door up behind Peter again. "Oh -- oh. No, we -- used to." He swallows, glancing over at Shane. "Used to be -- indistinguishable." "Now you can tell us apart because B's the pretty one," Shane says, without opening his eyes. "What the fuck does he need a /body-suit/ for now?" "You're /both/ pretty," Peter says, perhaps a little too insistently! Though soon he's flailing at Shane, to add: "Just -- differently. Oh--" His eyes flick back to the backpack, then up at Sebastian, then over toward Shane, and: "I just figured... when they shot at us, they were firing right into a crowd. Just being /around/ us could be -- dangerous. I'm going to..." Peter swallows, before adding, a little more slowly: "I'm going to try and talk to Jax about, maybe wearing something like this too, when he's out. Doing things. I don't think it would have stopped the arrows, but the bullets..." "Right, but I mean, what the fuck does /he/ need a bodysuit for?" Shane drops his bow hand down, leaning down to tap at his computer and stop its recording. Sebastian hugs the backpack against his chest, slipping back to the couch and curling up in the corner again. He sets the backpack on the floor at the base of the couch. "Pa coul definitely use one." "He's got Kevlar. For the -- raids, but." Shane shakes his head. "Guess it's just a pain to wear /all/ the time. Especially when you carry your own forcefields with you." "And like to wear pretty clothes," Sebastian adds with a blush. "You couldn't fit a bodysuit under most things he wears." "The bodysuit is thin. The better ones have the cooling system in them -- we could -- pretty one up, maybe. Maybe just the chest piece," Peter says, his tone subdued, watching as Sebastian moves back toward the couch. "Sleeveless, kind of like a kevlar vest, he could probably..." He's stepping forward, eyes on Sebastian, but moving to Shane -- reaching into his hoodie pocket to retrieve something. A small, paper bag. "--Shane? Could you... catch a scent for me? Remember it?" He's holding the paper bag out to Shane, as he approahes. Inside are a tuft of feathers, wrapped in a melange of smells. Peter's. Jax's. Micah's. Blood -- some of Jax's. Other scents, too. "Spaghetti straps or a halter top over a kevlar vest?" Sebastian wrinkles up his nose, head shaking firmly. "Tsss," Shane scoffs, setting his violin aside in its case and flopping down to drape himself into a beanbag. "/Seriously/, dude, where are your /priorities/." "Very misaligned," Sebastian answers quite seriously. He tenses as Peter brings out the paper bag, looking at it for a moment but then looking very /firmly/ back to his work. Shane sits a little more upright. He leans in, gills rippling and then lying flat. His nose twitches, eyes closing. A soft growl rumbles in his throat at the smells. "Fuck am I smelling for this smells like death. This smells like a motherfucker tried to kill my goddamn Pa." "--maybe a tube-top vest?" Peter offers, half-joking, half-serious -- though for a moment, he seems to actually be pondering it over, his eyes distant. But then Shane is growling, and Peter is tensing -- not out of fear, but out of something else. Apprehension? Agitation? His left fist clenches, then relaxes; his mouth twists into a straight, neutral line -- a blank expression on his face. "--feathers off the arrow," Peter admits, his tone level -- steady -- almost unusually *cold*. "Was hoping you might be able to catch the scent of the person who fired it, maybe. There were two; one with the bow, one with a pistol." Sebastian falls very quiet, here, but his dark eyes have lifted to fix on his brother steadily. Shane sniffs at the bag again, low growl surfacing again. "Catch it, yeah. And then what, there's seven and a half million fucking people in this city." "Yeah," Peter agrees, his voice as soft as fluffed snow. "It's a longshot. I just wanted to see if you could... remember it. We didn't see their faces. They might try again, and this way, you'd smell them coming." He keeps the paper bag out, for a moment, to make sure Shane's caught it; then, slow but sure, he crumples it up, sliding it back into his hoodie's pocket. "What, if I follow my Pa around like a hawk 24/7?" Shane glowers at the paper bag, drawing in another deep breath but then curling into a ball in the beanbag. "-- Though sometimes it's fucking /tempting/ I gotta tell you that man /attracts/ bullets." "And arrows." Sebastian fidgets on the couch. "Maybe not if you follow him just. Follow the -- scent." "From Midtown? Do you know how many fucking people pass through Midtown and a /day/ later you want me to --" Shane stops and considers, pensive. Something furrows his brow; he leans in to sniff again, and then curls back up. "... something there does smell familiar." "...familiar?" Peter asks, and now the paper bag is back out again, as he wears a frown. And looks down at his shoes. Before adding, reluctantly: "...I have the license plate number." The soft coolness of his voice frays at the edges, cracking beneath the pressure. "Of the hummer they drove. We could ask Eric to run a plate-check. Get us an address. Or maybe something in Stark Tower..." "Familiar -- I don't know. Can't really place it though." Shane frowns at Peter's shoes. "You shouldn't be wearing those in here. Eric could check the number but fuck asking Eric." He scowls before the admission: "... be easiest, though. But the fuck would you do once you had it?" Sebastian nestles down on his side, resting an arm on the couch's armrest and tucking his cheek against the crook of his elbow. "Find them. Might be the same person who shot Dusk. They'll probably do it again." "Oh, yeah -- sorry, I forgot --" Peter's already reaching down for his shoes, apparently thankful for something to distract him from the content of the conversation -- plopping down on his rear, starting to untie them, slip them off. "--somebody's hunting us. I mean, literally -- hunting us. Opening fire into /crowds/. They could have hit anyone; they're insane. I just need help finding them, then I'll... we'll -- figure something out. I can talk to Eric," Peter offers, then. Shane narrows his eyes at his twin. Then at Peter. Then at Sebastian again. "Figure something out. /Fuck/ you no. The way things go around /here/ someone'll try to /figure something out/ and Pa'll end up in jail again over it." Sebastian flushes dark; reflexively he lifts a hand to press against the side of his neck, but there's no gills there anymore to calm. "What are we supposed to do, wait for them to kill someone for /real/?" Peter's still dropped down on his backside; his shoes are off, placed aside -- staring up at Shane. His mouth is drawn thin, his brow wrinkled. "--we should at least find out who they are. If they're working alone, or as part of a group, or... You know the police won't do anything. We don't have to..." He licks his lips. "We don't have to /kill/ them." Peter's body language -- the tenseness in his face, the way his hand clenches his shoe (to the point of crinkling the fabric) -- speaks differently, however. Shane's gills are rippling, quick and agitated along his sides. His black eyes narrow on Peter further. Sebastian shifts uncomfortably, watching Shane's twitch of gills. He gets up from the chair, slowly approaching to kneel by the beanbag, pressing long brown fingers down over his brother's sides to press the gills back into place. "These people don't stop, Shane. Look what happened with -- with Pa and that -- HAMMER. Guy, this isn't --" "Like I don't fucking know that." Shane's teeth click together hard at the end of this sentence. "Why do /you/ need to find them?" Peter's grip on the shoe relaxes, at last -- but then tenses back up when Shane's teeth click together. His mouth twists into something -- unsure. A mix of anger and apprehension. His eyes drift down to Shane's feet, now, not making eye contact. "--because I almost got him killed. Because -- it's already hard enough for him, he doesn't need to be worrying about someone /else/ trying to kill him. Us. Everyone." Shane is opening his mouth to argue but this last sentence quiets him. His gills shift against Sebastian's hands; along his neck, they flutter open again. He drops his head in to rest against Bastian's shoulder, posture tense as he closes his eyes. "Oh." His voice is very quiet, hitched and breathless between his rapidly shifting gills. "But you might get killed." Peter reaches, slow but sure, for Shane's ankle -- for his knee. Squeezing, delicately, through the pajama bottoms. "--I'll be careful. I had a dream, the other night, you know," and then Peter is slipping a little closer, crawling toward Shane, nearer to Sebastian... "You'd taken over Evolve. We were talking about what was going to happen, I think it was like -- a year later or something? Sebastian--" Peter glances up to him. "--you were going to MIT, I think? And we were talking about registration, and..." Peter's arm curls around Shane's leg, now, hugging it. "--it was nice. Because -- we were still /alive/. In it." Sebastian's eyes widen. "MIT? No, they'd never take -- I mean even if I could get in I couldn't get /in/, good colleges aren't really a fan of freaks." But then he glances down at himself, eyes skipping over his current very /human/-looking form with a note of wistfulness. "Waitwhat." Shane's eyes have widened, too, though for entirely different reasons; he sits bolt upright fast enough to drag his sharp gills in a hard slice across Sebastian's hands. "No fucking way, I had that same exact -- you were crawling across the ceiling to sneak up on me and. What the fuck?" Sebastian hisses quietly, teeth -- very /flat/, very /normal/ teeth -- baring abruptly to Shane. His hand lifts reflexively towards his mouth, but by the time he's lifted it to lick clean the line of blood sliced across his palms the slash is already sealing itself back up. "-- waitwhat." Peter bolts up as Shane does; his eyebrows fly toward his hairline. "--huh? I--" He blinks, glancing toward Sebastian as he mouths his injury -- then back to Shane. Frowning. "--yeah, I. Was crawling on the ceiling, and I had brought you... meatballs. You had the same dream? Like..." His hand instinctively moves toward his chest, pressing his finger against the outline of something underneath the hoodie; a locket, carefully hidden and tucked safely away there. "--last time. Except, it wasn't... /weird/. Or dream-like. It was just like... us, now. Except in the future." "Yes. I told you I'd got rich and I was going to buy Stark." Shane /frowns/, gills fluttering again. "It was -- pretty much just -- normal yeah." "Except that you both had it together." Sebastian's words are a little muffled as he licks one palm clean, the other (already finished healing up) held cupped upward to avoid dripping its leftover blood down onto the beanbag. Shane, so /very/ helpful, reaches for Sebastian's other hand to SLURP up the blood. Kind of absent-unthinking. He licks his chops afterwards. "-- Except that we both had it together." "Did either of you find anything when you woke up?" Sebastian just surrenders his hand to his brother, equally absent-unthinking. "Like -- you know. Superhero costumes or. Magic compasses or. The entire world turned into a jungle." "No," Peter says, shaking his head -- scooting back in to invade Shane's personal space as he licks up his brother's blood. Squirming forward, he kneels beside Shane, opposite Sebastian -- his hand reaching out to thoughtlessly move toward Shane's stomach, scraping over it. His other hand extends forward, around Shane, to touch Sebastian's shoulder -- and squeeze, as if trying to drag them both inward toward the bean bag into one big pile. "There wasn't -- anything like that. It wasn't even /weird/, just really normal. It was vivid, and I was surprised I remembered so much from it, but I just assumed it was... a nice dream. Stark was writing you a letter of reference to get into MIT. We were talking about -- if I would try to come with you, or stay with Shane and help him with Evolve. And..." His words trail away; Peter shakes his head, nose dropping down to press against the side of Shane's skull. Sebastian nestles closer to the others, though slowly. Hesitant, a little uncertain as he presses in against his brother's side like he's -- not quite exactly sure how to /fit/ himself there. Shane has no such compunctions, just curling in bonelessly against the others with a soft rumble of purring at the hand running against his stomach. "Yeah. That's -- what it was like for me, too. I don't -- that's." He frowns uncertainly. "People have been sharing dreams before but those were more. Dreamy. This was actually kinda boring. Except," he decides, "the kissing, that was nice." As if to further illustrate this niceness, Peter proceeds to -- kiss! -- the side of Shane's head, gentle-yet-firm, mouth molded against the space just behind his cheek. "Yeah," Peter sighs, a little wistfully. The hand at Shane's belly curls a little more tightly, fingers scraping, before he spreads his digits out to grip it -- almost covetously, thumb flicking just over his navel, dipping a little down. He delivers another kiss, at Shane's cheek -- followed by a tiny, delicate nip. The hand behind Sebastian's shoulder slips a little lower across his back, now that he's closer -- Peter's squirming, as if trying to slip atop of the already overburdened bean-bag. Fingers dig a little bit into Sebastian's back, dragging down toward his waist, lower -- as if trying to scoop him up and /cradle/ him against Shane's side. "The kissing was -- nice."